


come on, now, sugar

by MachaSWicket



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Drabbles and Ficlets, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of ficlets, drabbles, and prompt responses, mostly from tumblr, for Veronica Mars. Chapter 1 will function as a table of contents so you can pick and choose what you'd like to read (if anything!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I still don't own these fools. :)

Chapter 1: Table of Contents:

Chapter 2: Logan/Veronica, knocking on the wrong door AU

Chapter 3: Logan/Veronica, meeting again at a high school reunion AU (i.e., non-movie AU)

Chapter 4: Logan/Veronica, coffee shop AU, written for fatherjerusalem. :) 


	2. Logan/Veronica, knocking on the wrong door AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: kmd0107 said: oooo this sounds fun! Logan/Veronica and how about knocking on the wrong door au.

Hauling herself upright in bed, Veronica blinked angrily at her alarm clock. Before she could start to panic, she checked her phone, squinting at the sudden painful brightness when the screen came to life in her blissfully dark bedroom. Once her retinas adjusted to what felt like a blinding blast of pure sunshine, she confirmed she hadn’t missed any calls or texts.

Which meant everything was fine. 

Except that someone was still knocking insistently at her door. And Veronica really wasn’t in the mood for… well, for whoever was knocking on her door at 3:15 in the damn morning. On a _Tuesday night_. 

She’d hoped that she’d left stupid drunken encounters behind once she graduated law school. Who’d have guessed that law school would be filled with _more_ irresponsible drunken behavior than undergrad? Which was not the important thing at the moment. 

With a groan, she pushed herself onto her feet, stumbling just a little bit as she woke all the way up. She was barefoot, clad in capri-length yoga pants and an old, oversized t-shirt. Probably her hair was a mess, but she wasn’t really concerned with that right now. More important to _kill_ whoever was _still_ knocking away on her door.

With a grimace, Veronica flipped the deadbolt and yanked the door open about a foot and a half. She quickly stepped forward to block the opening with her body, making it very clear she was _not_ inviting _whatever_ this nonsense was into the apartment.

She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but definitely not this.

A tall, clearly well built man stood in the hallway. A handsome man with surprisingly warm brown eyes and _entirely_ too much smirk happening for the situation, his hand raised as if he were just about to knock again. Instead, he opened his palm and indicated her with a strange kind of flourish as he said, “You’re not the blonde I was expecting.”

Veronica blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m here for Dick,” the stranger said. And if she hadn’t been so stunned by his words, she might have had time to appreciate the black leather jacket he wore, or the way the mossy green henley he had on gaped attractively at his neck. And -- were those dog tags?

But Veronica crossed her arms beneath her breasts, not missing the way his gaze dropped momentarily. “Let me guess --I’m supposed to say something like, _isn’t that my line?_ But, no, _I’m_ not here for dick. And if you’re looking for dick, more power to you, but you’ve _clearly_ knocked on the wrong--”

“No, no,” he interrupted, and he was grinning at her and it was equal parts annoying and maybe a little charming, “Dick with a big D.”

Veronica wrinkled her nose at him. “Seriously?” 

He actually laughed then. “Dick Casablancas,” he explained. “An actual person named Dick. Not--”

“Oh, my God.” She dipped her chin, hating that she could feel the beginnings of a blush. “Well,” she said, straightening her back to just brazen her way through the embarrassment, “in my defense, it’s nearly 3:30 in the morning and I was _very_ asleep when you began your little assault on my door.”

The stranger held up one finger and tugged his phone free from his pants pocket with the other hand. “One second,” he said, unlocking the screen and swiping the screen a few times before turning the phone so that she could read the screen. “I don’t randomly assault doors in the middle of the night. I promise.”

Veronica took a half-step forward, just so she could read the screen.

_Loooraaam, come gey me. 2918 oakdale, #12_

Veronica quirked a brow. “You’re name is Loram?”

“Logan,” he corrected, and he was smiling again. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Logan Echolls.” He offered his hand to shake.

Veronica recognized the name -- who wouldn’t? -- but she couldn’t quite reconcile the seemingly put together man in front of her with tabloid stories from a decade ago. She shook his hand quickly. “Nice to meet you, I guess,” she answered. “Though I usually don’t accept gentleman callers after 1:15 in the morning. Veronica,” she added, pointing her thumb at her chest in an unforgivably dorky move. “Veronica Mars.”

“Veronica Mars,” Logan repeated, and looked entirely too pleased with her name. “Well, I’m sorry to have woken you, but I can’t say I’m sorry I knocked on the wrong door.”

She couldn’t quite keep an answering smirk off of her face. “Sorry there’s no Dick here,” she shot back.

He grinned unapologetically at her for a moment. “I should probably find him at some point, since he’s clearly not at the address he texted me.”

“Shocking,” Veronica answered, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb, “considering he’s _clearly_ sober and didn’t misspell a word in that message.” She studied him for a moment longer, curious now. “Can I ask -- why are you responsible for your friend Dick who is so drunk or high in the middle of the night that he thinks your name is Loram?”

Wow, his eyes really sparkled when he quirked his eyebrows in amusement. “Normally I’m not at his drunken beck and call, but I’m working nights this week, so I figured I’d try to make sure he spent at least one night in his own bed.”

Veronica tilted her head. “You must really like Dick.”

To his credit, Logan chuckled. “I love Dick,” he agreed. “Dick’s a really important part of my life.”

Veronica realized she was rather shamelessly trading terrible innuendos with a random stranger in the middle of the night, and gave herself a little mental shake. “Good to know,” she told him, straightening up and letting her smile settle into something a little more reasonable. “Listen, I’m not working nights, so I should probably get back to bed.”

Logan nodded. “Completely fair,” he said, then hesitated. “So you mentioned that don’t accept gentleman callers this late at night,” he said slowly. “I suppose that means you _would_ be okay with gentleman callers earlier in the evening.”

Veronica felt a happy buzz of anticipation at the thought of Logan, this smirking, warm-hearted man showing up at her door on purpose.. And even though he didn’t phrase it as a question, she could see the uncertainty in the way he was holding himself. He wasn’t sure of her.

It was kind of exhilerating. 

Lifting her palms, she gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who can tell with me. I’m unpredictable,” she answered, but she couldn’t quite keep herself from smiling. Or from lifting a single suggestive eyebrow at him.

“Mmm,” he hummed, taking one step backwards. “I like mysteries.” He took another step back, inclining his head in a kind of bow. “Perhaps I’ll try my luck another time.”

Veronica watched him as he turned away, a playful smile on his lips. “I’ll look forward to that,” she murmured to herself. 

The next night, promptly at 7:30 p.m., there was a crisp knock at Veronica’s door.

-30-


	3. Logan/Veronica, meeting again at a high school reunion AU (non-movie AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from mersayseh said: Logan/Veronica, 48. Heh heh :P (meeting again at a high school reunion au)

Logan lounged against the large wooden bar inside the ‘09er, already regretting his decision to come to this thing. He’d stopped letting Dick’s insane ideas dictate his downtime years ago -- right about the time he joined the Navy. There was no reason for this horseshit high school reunion to have been the exception.

But Dick had been determined, promising to keep Logan nice and drunk if it would help.

It wouldn’t. Logan had very little interest in seeing any of the people who would bother to attend a high school reunion.

Because he knew better than to expect Veronica to be there. Even if he still wanted to see her. 

Just to check in, he told himself. Just to see if she’s doing okay.

He knew the basics, of course -- graduated Stanford and then Columbia law school. Spend two years at a firm in New York before moving back home to join up with her dad to do private investigation. Logan no longer lived in Neptune -- he was assigned to Whidby Island in Washington State -- but whenever he managed to get back to Neptune, he hoped to run into her.

He’d been home seven times in the year-plus that she’d been back, and no luck so far. Which, if he were being honest, was the main reason he’d agreed to the reunion, but it was a stupid decision. Like Veronica Mars, who had the worst high school experience of anyone he knew -- and he knew _himself_ \-- like she would be caught dead at this--

“Holy shit,” said Dick, appearing suddenly at Logan’s side. “Hide your balls, man.”

Logan glanced at his friend. “Excuse me?”

“Ronnie Mars, on the prowl,” Dick answered with a smirk, tilting his head towards the entry. “She’s looking pretty hot, actually. Maybe it’s time to revisit your favorite high school memories.”

Rolling his eyes at Dick, Logan turned to where he’d indicated and-- Froze. Just... froze in place. 

Because Veronica Mars was here, all right, and she was fucking gorgeous -- blonde hair falling in waves past her shoulders, some kind of shimmery black blouse, and a slim black skirt that hit a little lower on her legs than she used to wear in high school. But, he noted with a smile, she was still wearing boots -- though these were tight, knee-high, and black leather with high chunky heels, not the combat boots he remembered so fondly. But still. She looked fucking perfect..

And those sharp blue eyes were staring right back at him.

“Oh, shit,” Dick said from beside him. “I’ve seen this movie before. Just remember to wrap it, dude.”

Logan ignored his friend, who disappeared into the crowd. Instead, he kept his gaze on Veronica and couldn’t help the fact that he was smiling at her. Like a fucking lovesick puppy. Nine years later, and not a goddamn thing had changed with him.

But Veronica was smiling back at him, so he chose to focus on her instead of his decade-old crush on this woman. 

He tilted his chin, indicating she should come talk to him, and her smile widened. “One minute,” she mouthed, elbowing the man at her side, who Logan belatedly realized was Wallace. For a short moment, he wondered if Veronica and Wallace-- 

But no. Wallace had his arm around a woman’s waist. A gorgeous woman in a funky dress with short, spiky brunette hair, and holy shit, that was Mac. Wow. Good for them.

Logan wasn’t proud of the bolt of relief he felt that Veronica apparently wasn’t here with anyone. Because that didn’t mean she wasn’t _with_ anyone. And, Jesus, it wasn’t like he’d come here expecting to fall back into something with Veronica Mars after nine years.

 _Wished_ maybe. Or _daydreamed_.

But this was real life, and he was too smart to get himself twisted over her again. Thoroughly ignoring the thought that maybe he’d never quite got himself _un_ twisted from her in the first place, Logan turned to the bar behind him and ordered a whisky neat. He didn’t drink much anymore, but figured one wouldn’t hurt. Just to fortify himself for Veronica Mars.

“Logan Echolls,” she said from right beside him. He half-turned to find her at his elbow, smiling up at him. A wide, unreserved smile that still had the power to make his insides turn to mush. 

“Veronica Mars,” he answered, grinning. Then he gave in to temptation and leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek that was just a little too long to be entirely casual and just a smidge too close to her mouth to be entirely friendly. 

He shouldn’t have indulged himself, but he hadn’t seen her in _nine years_. Jesus. She smelled amazing -- the sharp bite of something citrusy over a softer, warmer scent. 

When he straightened, she let her sharp, evaluating gaze sweep his form, then gave him an appreciatively arched eyebrow. “The military looks good on you, Lieutenant.”

Logan gave her a playful leer. ‘Well, those clothes look good on you, Veronica.”

Her smile softened, just a bit. “How’ve you been, Logan?”

He paused, not entirely sure how best to answer. Because he had no doubts she’d kept the kind of tabs on him that he had on her, so she didn’t need an overview of his resume. After a moment, he dipped his chin and said, “It took a few years, but I’m good. _Really_ good these days.”

Veronica’s eyes sparkled a little, and she laid her palm against his bicep. “I’m--” She stopped, glanced away for a moment, then looked up at him with that open affection he’d missed every single day for nine years. “I’m _really_ glad, Logan. You deserve happiness.”

He basked in the warmth of her words before answering, “You do, too. So how’ve you been?”

And there was that playful smirk of hers. Her head tilted just a bit to the side, her body language drifting into something a little flirtier. “I think it took me a little longer than it took you to figure things out, but I’m happy now.”

“Good,” he said, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d clasped her free hand in his, and suddenly they were standing inches away from each other and it didn’t feel like two old friends catching up at a high school reunion. It felt like it used to between them -- all crackling energy and searing temptation.

He flicked his gaze to her lips, then back to her eyes. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he couldn’t break away from her even if he wanted to.

“Logan,” she said, her voice lower and huskier than it had been a few minutes before. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” she asked. “Somewhere _without_ all of these terrible people I never want to see again? And Mac and Wallace,” she added. “They’re in their own special category of awesome that has nothing to do with the Madisons and the Dicks of this world.”

He was grinning down at her, hardly believing the turn his evening had taken. But he slammed the barely touched whisky back onto the bar and tightened his grip on her fingers. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and tugged her towards the door.

-30-


	4. Logan/Veronica, coffeeshop AU for fatherjerusalem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [fatherjerusalem said](http://machawicket.tumblr.com/post/143251204367/fatherjerusalem-machawicket-bmarsecholls): 
> 
> Hey. Hey Macha. Hey. @machawicket. Hey.
> 
> Imma need you to continue that little fic you just started there.
> 
> Mmmmmkay thank you and good night.

 

The fourth time the tiny blonde with the comically over-sized camera waltzes into Logan’s cafe, he decides he has to say _something_. Because as fond as he is of paying customers, he’s not much of a fan of photographers, having grown up in the tender spotlight of his parents’ fame. Even if he could get past is automatic NOPE reaction to the camera, he _definitely_  is not okay with stalking. 

So once she settles into that same seat, coffee mug beside a small notepad on the table before her, camera in her hands as she stares out the large window, he sighs and heads over. “Hey, I’d, uh, appreciate it if you’d stop stalking people from my coffee shop.”

She looks up at him, her gaze sharp, and he gets the sense that she doesn’t miss much as she evaluates him. “I’m not stalking anyone.”

“You sit at this same table every day at the same time, and then you take a barrage of pictures, and then you leave,” he points out, his tone probably too acerbic for a customer relations issue, but Logan sucks at that part of the job anyway. “That’s at least stalker- _ish_.”

“It’s not stalking if you’re getting paid.” Her smile is dangerous in a way that Logan can’t quite understand. The burn of _awareness_  along the back of his neck shouldn’t surprise him -- he’s always been attracted to things that could kill him.

“Somehow that answer doesn’t make me feel any better,” he notes, not giving any ground, despite the conflicting urges to keep his distance and to lean into her flame.

She glances at the building across the street for a moment, then turns her attention back to him. “Your sign says no shirt, no shoes, no services. I didn’t see any posted rules about enjoying your delicious coffee while _also_  taking pictures of a cheating dirtbag.” She illustrates her point with a long sip of coffee, then places the mug back down and tilts her head in expectation.

He blinks, because the combination of her sass and her beauty is a little too much when it’s directed at him like that. “A cheating dirtbag,” he repeats. 

“Yup,” she answers, popping the P with enthusiasm. When she glances out the window a second time, her entire demeanor shifts. In seconds, she’s got the camera up, snapping pictures, and Logan finds himself drifting closer, following her line of sight to see a paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit walking arm in arm with a woman at least ten years his junior. “That’s the nanny.”

Logan snorts. “Living the cliche, I see.”

The blonde huffs a laugh. “Our cheating dirtbag really isn’t very imaginative. He takes her to the same hotel at the same time every couple of days.” As the pair disappear into the lobby of the aggressively mediocre chain hotel across the street, she looks up at Logan. “My client is at a baby and me class with their daughter right now, and he can’t even wait until they’re inside before he’s got his hand on the nanny’s ass.” She tilts the camera up, showing him the picture on the small preview screen.

“Charming,” Logan observes. He glances across the street at the hotel, scanning the windows. “I guess if you’re not zooming in on them in the room, I can’t really object to all of this.” He waves a hand at her detective-y accoutrements on the table.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, “you can’t get _those_  kinds of pictures in the middle of the day.” She pauses. “At least not from street level. I don’t suppose I could pop up to your roof for a few minutes.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her. “Nope.”

She places the camera down on the table, then picks up her coffee mug again, grinning up at him. “I’m just gonna keep coming back here until I wear you down.”

Logan gamely ignores the bubble of excitement in his chest at the idea of this insane little blonde woman with her sass and her job full of questionable morality spending more time in his shop. He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “You’re welcome to try.”

“Well, then,” she says, “I look forward to you showing me your roof tomorrow, Mr. Coffee Shop Owner.”

“Logan,” he corrects, holding out his hand. “Logan Echolls.” She doesn’t react to his name, which makes him even _more_  interested in her story. 

“Veronica Mars,” she says, giving his hand a brisk shake.

Logan takes a step back when she releases his hand. “Until tomorrow, Veronica Mars.” 

And if he repeats her name to himself a few times when he’s out back grabbing more cold cups, well, it’s just because he likes the way it rolls off his tongue. He’s definitely _not_  letting her onto the roof.

Almost definitely.

-30-


End file.
